The Search
by RavenCurls
Summary: Fiyero Tiggular has been looking for the Wicked Witch of the West for all the wrong reasons. Until now.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The upper floors of The Wizard's Palace were quiet. The lights along the corridors, usually brightly lit, were turned down, casting long dark flickering shadows along the corridors.

There were only a few guards on duty. Some of them were told to help out in the party downstairs while others had joined the party itself. There were two guards on duty at the door to the Throne Room. Their eyes looked straight ahead, glazed. One of them stumbled and then straightened himself. The other guard snickered.

"Told you you shouldn't' have drunk so much." He gestured to the empty bottles next to them.

"Hic," the first guard protested.

They might be officially on duty, but that had not stopped their colleagues from bringing up a carton of beer so that they could celebrate with the rest. The second guard rubbed his eyes. He would stay awake, he promised himself. He looked ahead of him, at the corridor that stretched in front of them and ended in darkness. It was the only passageway to the Throne Room, the only way anyone could approach the room. In his slightly tipsy state (though he blamed it on the dim lights), the straight corridor split into two, winding and curving like a silk ribbon on a lady's hair. He blinked his eyes and the two corridors merged into one again. The guard swore and rubbed his eyes again.

He did not notice the dark figure that flew past.

The Witch came on her broom. She saw, through the windows lining the corridor, the two guards who were on duty outside the Throne Room. One of them stumbled, and the empty bottles by their side told her that they were not taking their duties seriously. Fools, she thought as she deliberately steered closer to the windows, tempting fate, hoping that they would see her.

They did not.

The Witch turned her broom around and flew past the windows again, but still the guards did not notice her. She thought of hollering at them but changed her mind at the last minute. She had more important things to do than to frazzle the nerves of two guards.

The Witch flew directly into the Throne Room through one of its opened windows.

She landed smoothly, her boots making barely a sound on the marble floor. The room was surprisingly lit and she froze for a moment, fully convinced that there must be a trap somewhere. Perhaps the guards would burst into the room with their rifles raised, or a cage would come crashing down from the ceiling and trapped her. She took a first step after a while, followed by a second, but nothing happened, and she approached the big, ugly bronze head with trepidation, her broom in her hand, ready to ward off any surprise attack.

She knew where the lever was. She had seen the Wizard pulled it the last time. She moved toward the bronze head. She remembered how menacing the head had looked the first time she saw it, with its eyes glowing red accompanied by the flashing lights and plumes of smoke. But now the lights were off and the eyes looked dead, and the head looked more silly than menacing. She shook her head to clear away the memories from another lifetime.

There it was, the lever. The Witch yanked on it with more force than necessary. The red curtain behind the bronze head jingled lightly before it moved along the railing on the floor and revealed a large cage that spanned the width of the Throne Room and touched the ceiling. The cage was filled with Monkeys, looking strangely human with their bulging eyes and scrawny limbs. They were all naked, except for one. The Animals stared at her, silent. Behind them, their wings unfurled slowly, reaching their full span.

It was as if they knew why she was here and were ready.

She approached the cage, a finger to her lips, not knowing if the Monkeys could understand the universal sign for silence. She did not know if they were capable of making any sound anymore, but it would not do her any good if they kicked up a ruckus and drew the attention of the guards outside. Despite her impulsive nature, she did not plan to die on that day.

She put her broom on the floor and pressed her palms on the metal bars. There must be a door somewhere.

She moved quietly along the length of the cage, trying to find the opening to the cage. She had just found it when she heard a voice behind her.

"I know that you will be back."

* * *

><p>Downstairs, the party was in full swing.<p>

The room was crowded. Politicians rubbed shoulders with businessmen while famous personalities joked with generals. Glasses clinked as two Gillikinese businessmen sealed a business deal, and giggles erupted between three young women as they eyed a handsome soldier near them. In a corner, a live band played the latest music and the guests danced to the tune, the gentlemen's hands placed lightly on the back of the ladies as they twirled around the ballroom.

A member of the cabinet had just arrived, and Glinda moved gracefully across the room to welcome him, unhampered by the big puffy gown that she wore. The gown was custom made for the party, its bodice a pale green to match the dark green of the Gale Force uniform that Fiyero wore. The spaghetti straps showed off her slim shoulders, while the sequins of various shades of green and gold formed a V shape down the front, emphasizing her figure. The petals at the back of her skirt were of a darker shade of green, decorated with thousands of sequins and beads that were stitched onto the fabric by hand. The gown sparkled under the light, and so did the tiara that she had on her head. Fiyero knew that the gown and the tiara weighed more than the clothes that he wore, but Glinda did not seem to be affected by all those weight. She looked absolutely radiant, a smile on her face as she gave her hand to the grumpy new arrival to kiss. The old man said something and Glinda placed her fingers on her lips, giggling daintily before she pointed towards Fiyero's direction. The man turned and smiled perfunctory at Fiyero. The prince nodded in response and he reached out automatically for a glass of wine as a waiter passed by.

"Great party," a dry voice spoke next to him.

Fiyero looked at the man next to him. Like most of the younger guests, he was fashionably dressed. His shirt was rumpled though and his collar opened. He held a bottle in his hand, and took a swig from it before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Where did you get that from, Avaric?" he frowned slightly at the liquor swishing inside the bottle. The bottle was almost empty.

"The kitchen. There was a girl who was most willing to accommodate my requests for alcohol and … other things." Avaric snickered.

Fiyero scoffed. Avaric was a university friend, but he never understood his penchant for bedding every girl between the age of fifteen to fifty.

The Gillikinese interpreted his expression correctly.

"You can't blame me for that. Ever since you appear in the Emerald City, all every girl wants is an Arjiki boyfriend. Tall, dark, handsome Arjiki with the heart of a warrior and the soul of a poet. Poor thing like me no longer stand a chance anywhere. I'm passé, out of fashion. I'm as good as yesterday's newspapers, barely good enough to wrap the rotting vegetables sold in the market."

Fiyero ignored him. Avaric could be very dramatic at times.

"By the way, I forget to congratulate you. Congratulations! To both your promotion and engagement." The Gillikinese lifted his bottle for a toast.

Fiyero clinked his glass against Avaric's bottle but did not sip from his glass.

"Though if I didn't know better," he continued, "I would think that she sprung it on you. You look more like someone who has a noose tightening around his neck than a man who is getting engaged to the love of his life."

Fiyero ignored the last jab.

Avaric did not seem to notice Fiyero's lack of interest in the conversation. "It's interesting how Shiz manages to turn out brilliant students year after year. I don't mean teeny, tiny, insignificant me of course," he said, though Fiyero knew very well that the future Margreave had never thought of himself as either tiny or insignificant. "We got people like Glinda, the sweet voice of the Wizard. We got people like you, deeply involved in military politics …"

"I don't dabble in politics, Avaric. I am the captain of the Gale Force. I don't play with politics. My job is to maintain the peace in Oz, to bring criminals to justice and to make Oz a safer place for everyone."

"Ah yes, the taint of Shiz." Avaric shook his head dramatically.

Fiyero was about to reply when Glinda suddenly appeared next to him.

She curled one hand around his arm as she gave her other hand to Avaric, who kissed it.

"Thank you so much for coming, Avaric," she said gaily.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," was his reply.

Glinda giggled, and then excused herself and Fiyero as she pulled her fiancé away.

"Fiyero, have you seen the Wizard?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"He is supposed to be giving his speech in twenty minutes and I can't seem to find him anywhere."

Fiyero had no idea what the speech was about, though he suspected that it had something to do with Glinda. No, it definitely had something to do with Glinda, and she knew what it was, for she had swept into his office two days ago brimming with excitement and told him that the Wizard had planned to give a speech during the engagement party.

"Can you please go and find him, dearest?" she asked him. Fiyero nodded as he patted her hand reassuringly. The Captain squeezed through the crowd toward the exit, thanking and acknowledging the guests and colleagues who offered their congratulations on his engagement and promotion.

It was nighttime, and short of leaving the Palace, there were only a few places that the Wizard would usually go to. Fiyero went to his first choice. The Wizard always liked the Throne Room. He had a secret room tucked at the back of The Throne Room that was out of bounds to everyone. Fiyero had found the Wizard more than once, sitting in front of the big bronze head, high on something that he had consumed. He hoped that he would not find the Wizard drunk. It would be difficult to sober him up in time for the speech.

Fiyero approached The Throne Room. The two guards stood to attention, or at least they tried to.

"Is the Wizard inside?" he asked. The guards nodded as they stood to the side. Fiyero nodded his thanks and opened the door before he closed it behind him. He did not want the guards to hear anything if the Wizard was really drunk and started to sing or mumble something nonsensical.

He went in just in time to see what seemed like a shadow jumping out of one of the windows. Somewhere near to the bronze head, a lump covered by a blanket cloth shivered uncontrollably. And then someone whimpered and got his attention.

The Wizard was on the floor. He was sober but he was not alone.

Facing the Wizard was a woman, her back to Fiyero. A tall woman dressed in a black dress that hung from her thin frame. She wore a black pointed hat and some of her hair had escaped from the confines of the hat, curling gently in the breeze that came in through the windows. But there was nothing gentle about her stance. She took a step toward the old man, a green hand raised. She held a broom in that hand, her knuckles turning white with the force that she gripped the stick, as if she was about to strike any moment. The Wizard cowered in fear.

Fiyer took out his gun slowly.

The Wizard cast a glance at Fiyero and the Captain could see the fear in his eyes, but the old man was so scared that he was not able to ask the Captain for help, nor plead the woman for mercy. The Wizard's limbs skittered on the polished floor as he tried to back away from the woman, but he soon found his back against the bronze head; he was trapped.

The woman continued to advance, her eyes on the Wizard who now stretched out a trembling hand as if the feeble gesture could stop her. The Wizard glanced at Fiyero again, panic written all over his face.

It was obvious that there must be someone else in the Throne Room. The Wizard's constant glances behind her should have alerted her to his presence, even if she had not heard the sounds when he entered the room. Fiyero expected her to pause or to see who was behind her but she did not. It was as if she did not think that anyone who entered the room could be a threat to her.

The Captain brought up his other hand to steady the gun.

A gust of wind came into the Throne Room as he took a breath, wrapping the black skirt around her legs and sending the strands of raven black hair drifting in the air. There was something eerily breathtaking about the scene, but Fiyero focused instead on the one shot that he was about to give.

There was no mistake who she was. She was the woman who had occupied his mind for the past few years, the one whom he had been searching for so long. And he had finally found her. He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.

He did not register the sound of the gunshot. Nor did he hear the soft gasp that escaped from her lips when the bullet penetrated her flesh. But he knew that he had hit his target when the witch's legs buckled and she slid slowly to the ground.

**A/N New multi-chap. This takes place in Act II, so our favourite characters are older and more mature, though not necessary wiser.**

**As the story progresses, some of you may notice the similarities between this story and MyLittleElphie's Worlds Apart. The two stories are developed separately and any similarities are purely coincidental. I have to admit that I steal her idea for the Wicked dolls (see story image if you are not reading in mobile mode) though – she made these absolutely cute Wicked keychains for the lucky Australian cast! Some people are just multi-talented *green eyed***

**Once again, thank you to those who reviewed for The Prologue. Your reviews are like gemstones – beautiful and precious. And thank you to those who nominated/voted for me in the Annual Gregs Award. It is much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was over faster than he expected.

Fiyero approached the witch cautiously from behind, his gun still trained on her. He watched as the Witch attempted to stand up using her broom as a crutch. He had to admire her for her strength, for he had seen bigger and seemingly stronger men who had collapsed with similar wounds. He turned slightly as he approached her so that he would face her. She finally managed to stand up, and her legs buckled again when she looked up and saw the face of the man who had shot her.

Her face fell. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

The rumours always described the Wicked Witch of the West as a crazy old woman with moulting skin, skin the colour of sin. Some even said that she had an extra eye that always remained awake. But the Witch in front of him looked nothing like that. Sure, she had green skin, but it was not dry and scaly. And she was not old. She looked like she was around his age or perhaps a bit older. He had expected someone with a wicked sneer and a twisted face, perhaps even foaming at the mouth, but he saw nothing of that. But there was something that he did not expect to see – a pair of brown eyes filled with so much sadness it almost hurt for him to see.

Fiyero felt his posture faltered, and he re-aimed his gun at her.

Just then, the door burst open and half a dozen guards rushed in and surrounded the Witch. They aimed their rifles at her, shouting conflicting commands. But she did not seem to hear them; her eyes never left the Captain's face.

A whiff of the scent of Gillikin rose told Fiyero that someone else entered the room. The rustling of a gown, followed by a gasp.

He did not need to turn around to know who it was.

"Glinda, you'd better go," he told his fiancée, his eyes still trained on the green girl.

"Fiyero…"

"Please, just go back to the ball. She's dangerous."

"But she's…"

Madame Morrible came into the room just then and stopped next to Glinda.

"So this is true," the older woman said. "Your betrothed had captured the Wicked Witch. Good job, Captain."

"Thank you, Madame," Fiyero replied, his eyes still not leaving the woman in front of him. "Gentlemen, please take her into custody," he told his men, and two of them quickly stepped behind the Witch and twisted her hands behind her, forcing her to the ground as they handcuffed her. She looked at Fiyero and Glinda, her expression no longer readable.

Fiyero finally turned and looked at Glinda. Her face was pale, and he noticed that she was trembling.

He holstered his gun and placed a hand on the small of her back.

"Glinda, let's go," he told her as he gave the prisoner one last look. Someone had pulled off her hat, and her long black hair cascaded down, resting on her shoulders like a cloak. The hair framed her face delicately, and Fiyero had to turn away.

She was just a girl.

* * *

><p>The Wizard's Palace was both the home of the Wizard and the office of his administration. It had endless corridors, hundreds of rooms and thousands of windows. There was an in-house kitchen that could whip up a feast at a moment's notice for hundreds of guests, four ballrooms that could accommodate more than five hundred people each, a hair salon, a tailor, two bakeries, three restaurants, a bookstore and a doctor (besides the Wizard's personal physician who only attend to him). Deliveries were made daily for the items that were not available. The only thing that was not available and could not be delivered was a prison.<p>

It was thus decided that the Wicked Witch of the West would be locked in a small, dirty, windowless room in the basement, guarded by two guards. The room used to be a storeroom, but was no longer in use. Fiyero had wanted to send her to Southstairs immediately but Madame Morrible stepped in. It was a day of celebration, she had reminded him, and they should not give the Witch a chance to ruin it with her ill-timed appearance. She would be transported to Southstairs first thing in the morning.

The Wizard did not give his speech as planned. He shook uncontrollably, even after the Witch had been removed from his sight, and had to be helped up. Even then, the ruler's knees shook like jelly as he attempted to walk, and he had to be assisted by two bodyguards. His personal physician was called in. The Witch was escorted to her cell by the four guards who would guard the temporary prison on a rotational basis. The two guards on the first shift were in a good mood when Fiyero went down to check on the prisoner. They joked and laughed, and congratulated each other on the capture of the Witch.

Fiyero went back to the Throne Room after that. Madame Morrible had left the room by then. He looked out at the external walls, searching for any claws or ropes that could provide a hint on how the Witch's accomplice that he had seen had escaped. There were none. He dispatched his men to go outside the palace to look for witnesses, and they returned shortly and reported that they were unable to find any. He was not surprised. The windows of the Throne Room faced a garden with a lake, and the garden was not lit at night. The possibility of finding anyone there at night was remote. Without any witness, there was no way he could know if the accomplice was male or female, human or Animal.

Glinda was having an animated conversation with two young women, the daughters of a senior officer, when Fiyero went back to the ballroom. He slipped an arm around her waist, and the blonde turned around and gave him a radiant smile before she kissed him on his cheek. There was no sign of that trembling girl that he had seen in the Throne Room earlier on. The music started again, and Fiyero led her to the dance floor. The couple spent the rest of the evening dancing with each other. She looked back at him, a smile on her face.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly. Fiyero smiled back.

"Just how beautiful you are," he replied automatically. Glinda giggled. Fiyero held his fiancée close as they swayed gracefully to the music, but his mind wandered, replaying the scene in the Throne Room over and over again, reliving the first glimpse he had of the Witch, the sadness in her eyes.

The party ended before midnight, and his men pulled Fiyero to a nearby pub for another round of celebration. He treated his men to several rounds of beer, but left after the first round. His men did not mind.

Fiyero stood outside the pub. It was a long night and he still had to submit a report in the morning on the arrest of the Witch. He looked at the Wizard's Palace. The building loomed tall in the darkness, the yellow lights on the both the interior and exterior casting an eerie glow on the green walls. Glinda should be asleep by now, and so would the Wizard. But the guards on duty would still be awake. He could carry out his interrogation tomorrow morning before the Witch was moved to Southstairs, or he could do it tonight. He doubted that he would be able to sleep tonight. He could have killed the Witch with the one chance that he had, but that was never his intention; he only wanted to stop her from harming the Wizard. There was so much information he could get from her that she was more useful alive than dead. He thought of the Witch and, for a strange moment, wondered how much the gunshot wound hurt. He shook his head. The injuries of the prisoners were not his concern; the doctor in Southstairs would take care of that. He turned his thoughts to the shadow that he had seen jumping out of the window when he had first entered the Throne Room. He wanted to know who her accomplice was. There was another arrest to be made, and soon.

Fiyero turned and made his way back to his office which was two streets away. He had a safety kit in his office. Perhaps the Witch would be more cooperative if he showed some kindness to her. The report would have to wait. He never liked to write reports anyway.

* * *

><p>If anyone had looked in, they might think that the Witch was asleep or dead. She was propped against the wall, her head down, like an unwanted toy left on a shelf. Her hands hung lifeless in front of her, cuffed, and her legs were splayed. The only sign of life was the blood that was still oozing out from the gunshot wound on her leg. And she stayed in that position, not moving, not even when the door opened cautiously and a head popped in.<p>

"Elphie?" a soft voice asked.

The Witch looked up and raised her hands to shield her eyes from the bright glow in the other person's hand.

"Oh sorry," the voice said and she quickly mumbled something and the light dimmed significantly. She stood there for a while and then hastily stepped into the small confined space, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell in the room.

"Sweet Lurline, what are you waiting for? A green carpet?" she chided the Witch gently.

"Glinda?" the Witch blinked her eyes, bringing them into focus.

"Yes, it's me. Of course, it's me."

The blonde quickly squatted down in front of the Witch. She pulled up the hem of her skirt and tucked it in her lap, trying to prevent her skirt from coming into contact with the dirty floor as she slotted a key into the tiny hole on the cuff. It opened easily.

"I got your broom." With that, Glinda shoved the old, weather-worn stick into the green girl's hand. It was not much of a broom anymore. There was hardly any bristle left. The stick had been smoothened through years of wear and tear, but its tip was sharp, having broken off recently. The feel of the broom seemed to trigger something in the Witch, and she struggled to stand up, using it as a support like before. She winced in pain as she put some of her weight on the injured leg.

The Witch looked at Glinda the Good. She had changed out of her ball gown and was dressed in a simple blue dress ending above her knees. There was a sling bag across her body.

"Wait," she said as she bent down in front of the Witch. She took a piece of gauze from the bag and wrapped it around the wound, stopping the blood from flowing.

"That's better," she commented as she stood up and wrapped an arm under the other girl's shoulders. "Come on," she said as they hobbled out of the room.

* * *

><p>At the main gate, the guards greeted the Captain of the Gale Force and let him in. He made his way immediately to the basement. More and more questions were popping into his head, and he would like to get them answered as soon as possible.<p>

* * *

><p>The Witch looked at both sides of the corridor when Glinda closed the door behind them and secured the padlock to the door. "No guard?" she asked, surprised to find the corridor empty.<p>

"Are you complaining?" the blonde asked. The Witch shook her head slightly.

"Well, I kind of suggested that they must be tired and hungry guarding you, and that there is some leftover food in the kitchen. 'Isn't it a waste to throw away all these delicious food?' I asked. What I didn't tell them was that I had sprinkled something into the food before that. Ingenious, aren't I?" She tried to stifle a giggle and then looked at her injured friend and was glad to see a slight smile on her face.

Glinda turned to the left, towards the back of the Palace. They had barely reached the staircase at the end of the corridor when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down to the basement from the other end of the corridor.

"Hurry," she said as she helped Elphie up the stairs.

Fiyero reached the basement. The lights were dim, and he wished that he had brought some light. There was some scurrying at the other end of the long corridor, but there was no one to be seen. Rats perhaps. The basement and the lesser-used corridors were filled with vermin. The whole place was quiet as he expected, but something was wrong. It was a tick-tock before he knew what it was.

The door to the cell. It was closed and locked, but it was unguarded.

"Guards!" he raised his voice.

Glinda nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice. She looked behind her, expecting to see Fiyero at the foot of the stairs. He was not. She pulled the Witch's hand as they made their way up and stopped at the top of the stairs. Glinda pushed at a part of the wall lined with faint markings. The wall moved with hardly a groan, revealing a dark passageway. The two girls went in, and the wall closed behind them.

Glinda knew the whole castle like the back of her hand and she led the way, deciding to go this way or that, or choosing a route that was not guarded and not in use. The Witch was surprised by the number of secret passageways and corridors. There were so many of them, hidden behind tapestries or in plain sight. She wished that she had known of them before. She wanted to ask Glinda how many more such hidden passageways there were, but her friend was too busy determining the way to go. They could hear shouts from different directions, male voices that were uncomfortably close, and they knew that an alarm had been raised and a massive search for the escaped prisoner was underway.

Glinda started to walk faster, but the Witch stopped in her tracks.

"Go," she whispered to her friend. "You can't be found with me."

Glinda shook her head. "I can't leave you here. You'll get caught. We'll be there soon," she promised as she gave the green hand a tug, not explaining where 'there' was.

The Witch swallowed and allowed herself be pulled again.

Many turns later, Glinda pushed at a wall in front of them and the duo found themselves on the upper floor of the castle, near to the Throne Room. The corridor was thankfully empty. The windows lining the corridor had never looked more inviting.

The shouts of the men echoed from downstairs. They were not out of the woods yet.

"Here," the petite blonde pulled the sling bag over her head and hanged it on the green girl's neck. "There are antiseptic, gauzes, cotton wool and some food inside. And your hat." The two girls could not help but smiled at the mention of the hat. The ghastly, black pointed hat that had sealed their friendship so many years ago, turning the two roommates who had loathed each other initially into best friends.

"Now go." She grasped the taller girl's hand, unwilling to let go. The Witch's long fingers wrapped around hers.

"Thank you, Glinda, for still caring about me," she finally choked out the words.

"Of course I still care about you, silly," Glinda pressed a hand to her cheek. "I always will. We're best friends, aren't we?"

The Witch nodded. She looked down and noticed the sparkling ring on the blonde's finger.

"I'm so sorry for today, for spoiling your engagement party," she sniffed slightly and then tried to give a brave smile. "And I forget to say congratulations to you – to you and Fiyero. I wish the two of you happiness."

There was no tear, her Elphie would never cry, but Glinda wiped her cheek, trying to erase the sadness from her face. And because she herself would cry if she stopped moving and stopped talking.

"Elphie, please don't be angry with Fiyero. He's just doing his job."

The Witch nodded slightly. Another shout in the distance. The guards were getting closer.

"Can you fly with that wound?" Glinda asked as she watched the other girl swung the broom between her legs.

"I can fly it even if I have no leg," the Witch replied dryly.

"Elphie!" Glinda admonished, knocking on the dirty old broom for effect and the Witch cackled softly.

The two of them stood there, facing each other, each unwilling to say the last word, until Glinda thought she heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the sense of danger returned to them.

"Goodbye, Elphie, and try not to put yourself in danger again."

"Try not to buy another pair of shoes, Glinda," was her reply and she was gone.

Glinda placed her hands on the window ledge and was about to lean out of the window when she heard a voice behind her.

"Glinda?"

She spun around.

Fiyero was there, still in his Gale Force uniform. A few of his men were behind him. They were all armed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as his men moved to the windows and looked outside.

She held her breath until they had finished looking out of the windows. They did not see anything.

"Well… ," Glinda twisted the ring on her finger as she stepped away from the window. "I couldn't sleep and so I just walk around. And I thought I saw a shooting star. It's a good omen, you know." She gave a nervous giggle. "So why are you gentlemen here?" she asked innocently.

"The Witch has escaped, Glinda." She tried to look surprise. Fiyero's eyes bored into hers. He knew, she thought. Her hands shook, and she quickly put them behind her back.

"Do you happen to see anything or hear anything suspicious?" He asked as he took a step towards her. She shook her head. The air suddenly turned stifling and Glinda found that she could not breathe.

"Glinda?" his eyes softened, and his voice was softer as he took another step and his hands reached out to her. "Glinda, are you alright? You look –"

Glinda fainted into her fiancé's arms before he could finish his sentence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**A/N More insight into the Flinda relationship. Part of their interaction in this chapter is very much influenced by their emotions in the scene Thank Goodness.**

Fiyero stood outside the Wizard's suite, his hands in the pockets of his pants, fisted.

He usually did not go to the Wizard's private quarters. All his meetings with the Wizard were held either in the Throne Room or in the Wizard's office. And now he was going to his room for the second time in less than twelve hours. He and his men had searched the whole palace the night before, hoping that the Witch was still somewhere in the building. Fiyero had even gone to the Wizard's bedroom and checked the place while the old man slept fitfully on his bed. But the Witch was nowhere to be found.

He had questioned the guards who were supposed to watch over the Witch. Initially, they had insisted that they had only left the cell unguarded for a moment. It was only after repeated questioning that they admitted that they had stomach problems after consuming the food from the party and all four of them had gone to the toilet at the same time, leaving the Witch unguarded.

Her broom and hat were conveniently missing too.

Fools.

Fiyero cursed himself for his lapse of judgement. He should have insisted that the Witch be escorted to Southstairs that same night. But Glinda had sided with Madame Morrible and told him to cut the soldiers some slack. It was a night of celebration, she reminded him, their engagement party, and she wanted everyone to remember it as such, not as the night where they captured the Witch. One night would not make any difference; the Witch would still be there in the morning, she reasoned.

Obviously she was wrong.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in," the Wizard said.

Fiyero entered the room. The Wizard was still dressed in his sleeping robe, halfway through his breakfast. As Fiyero watched, his servant cleared away the untouched omelette and served his tea in a tiny emerald green cup and saucer. The eye bags below the Wizard's eyes were darker than usual; he looked as if he did not have a good night sleep. The Captain waited as the old man brought the porcelain cup to his lips while his other hand held the saucer. The hands trembled, making a tiny ringing sound with the tea set. The Wizard drank half the tea before he acknowledged the presence of the man who was standing in front of him with a bright smile.

"Captain, are you here to deliver the good news to me? Is the Witch now under maximum security in Southstairs?" he asked. "Have I ever told you that I always know that you will be the one who will capture her? I knew it the first time I saw you at the graduation ceremony, standing smart and proud among the other soldiers. You have that determined look about you, Captain, and I know that besides working hard, you will also work smart. And I am right. By the way, I apologise about the minor inconvenience caused to your engagement party. I was supposed to give an announcement. You do know what it is about, don't you?"

The Wizard rattled on when there was no reply from Fiyero.

"I am absolutely thrillified when Glinda told me about your engagement. And I thought hard about what I can give to a girl who has everything. And then I remember. She always likes the North Ballroom. She always says that it is her favourite out of the four ballrooms. And Gillikin is in the North of Emerald City. So what is a better gift for her than to rename the North Ballroom to her name in honour of her contribution to Oz and also for her engagement to my newly promoted Captain?" The Wizard punched the air with his cup as he enunciated the next few words. "The Glinda Ballroom." He beamed at the captain, proud of his originality. "What do you think? Don't you think that it is a great idea, Captain?" The Wizard finally stopped.

Fiyero looked at the ruler of Oz.

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Your Ozness," he said, his face impassive.

"What bad news?"

"The Witch escaped in the middle of the night, Your Ozness. She is no longer in our custody."

It was funny how everything went into slow motion then. The Wizard's jaw slackened and his fingers let go of the cup and saucer. The porcelain fell onto the carpeted floor soundlessly and its contents spilled onto the green carpet, staining it a deeper shade.

Fiyero knelt down immediately and picked up the items before placing them on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry, Your Ozness." He noticed that the Wizard's hands were now shaking uncontrollably. The Wizard saw the same, and he quickly gripped his knees with his hands in a bid to hide the shaking. His voice was trembling too when he spoke again.

"She escaped?"

"I take full responsibility for this, Your Ozness. The Witch escaped under my watch and I will accept whatever punishment that you give me. I take full responsibility for this and I promise you that I will capture her again."

The Wizard shook his head slowly, as if in a daze. He tried to stand up but his legs turned into jelly and he fell back on his seat. Both Fiyero and his servant rushed to his side but he waved them off.

"Are you alright, Your Ozness?"

The Wizard nodded his head. "I need a rest, Captain." He gestured with his fingers, signaling for him to leave.

Fiyero looked back when he was at the door. The Wizard was still on the couch. As Fiyero watched, the old man took out a green bottle from his pocket and drank from it. The drink seemed to calm him somehow and his shaking lessened. The Wizard covered his face with his hands as he leaned back on the couch and let out an almost inaudible moan of despair.

Fiyero made his way to the other side of the palace. Glinda was in her office as he had expected. It was not officially her office, but more of a room that she had monopolised and converted for her own use. With the Wizard's permission, she had renovated the room, turning it from its previous emerald green setup (like almost all the rooms in the palace) into a room of pink and pastel. The wallpaper was pastel with embossed flowers. The curtains were pink and sheer. There was a couch with pink flowers matched with green cushions with lacy white trimmings. All the wooden furniture was carved with flowers, and there were always fresh flowers in the room.

Glinda was with someone whom he had not met before. The man looked at her as she spoke animatedly and seemed to write down every single word she said. Her engagement ring flashed as it caught the sunlight. Fiyero frowned when he noticed the ring. Avaric had hit too close to home when he said that Fiyero looked as if he had a noose around his neck. The truth was that he did not choose the ring. As a matter of fact, he did not even propose to her. It had happened so quickly he still had no idea what exactly had happened. One moment they were celebrating a "Wicked Witch-free Day" and an official announcement of his promotion and the next moment Madame Morrible was congratulating him on his engagement.

Glinda saw him then, and with a single "Dear!" she went to him and effectively dismissed the man who was with her. Glinda tip-toed and kissed him on his cheek, and the man tried to walk past them discreetly on his way out.

Glinda took a long time to dust some non-existing lint from his Gale Force uniform, and it was only when the door closed that the frozen smile disappeared from her face.

"Have you spoken to His Ozness?" she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

He nodded and went to the bar counter that was near to the windows. Instead of pouring himself something strong (Glinda did have some of those for her visitors. She was always so thoughtful), he poured himself a glass of cold water from the water jug. He moved to the windows instead of sitting on the couch. He never liked the couch. It was custom made for someone of Glinda's height, which meant that it got uncomfortable if he sat there for too long. While the couch was pink, the cushions were emerald green in colour. There was something, something about pink going with green, that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Glinda went to him again, her hand gentle on his arm as he stared out of the window.

"Is he mad?" she asked softly.

Fiyero turned to look at her and shook his head. "He's more scared than angry."

Relief flooded her face.

"I'll find her. I'll find her and I'll …" he suddenly remembered the Witch's face, the pain that she tried to hide, and his words trailed off.

"Fiyero," Glinda placed a hand on his chest. "Can you do something for me? Can you ask for a transfer?"

"A transfer?" He looked at her, confused.

She nodded.

"Why? I've just been made captain. I can't ask for a transfer now."

"I worry about you every day, dearest." She placed a hand on his face. "I worry every time you go on a mission. I pray every time that you will come back safe and sound."

Fiyero removed her hand from his face.

"It's my job, Glinda. It's my responsibility. I can't ask my men to go out and risk their lives while I sit in the office. And there's nothing to worry about. I am the best. I know how to take care of myself. Haven't I been coming back safe and sound?"

"But I worry about you!" Her pitch went higher. "What happen if your luck runs out one day? I'm so worried that you will get hurt, Fiyero. And now that we are going to be married…"

Fiyero let out his breath. He did not want to talk about this, not so early in the day and not after the eventful night but it seemed that he was unable to avoid that.

"I didn't ask for the engagement," he said simply. Her lip quivered, and she pressed her fingers on her lips.

"Glinda…" He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Glinda, I have told you so many times. I am not suitable for you. I appreciate you standing by my side for so many years, tolerating the long hours that I keep. But I am not the one for you. My job is my first priority and that is unfair to you. You deserve someone better. Someone who will put you as his first priority, someone who loves you more than anything else in the world."

"But I don't want anyone else. I only want you, Fiyero. You are the only one who knows me." She whimpered. "I don't mind your long hours. I don't mind that you think that your job is more important than me. I just don't want you to get hurt. If you really like your job so much, I won't even insist that you ask for a transfer. But just be careful, and come back to me safe and sound every day. That's all I ask of you."

"Is that too much to ask for?" she asked timidly. "All I want is a little corner in your heart." She placed a finger on his chest and drew a little triangle over his heart with her fingertip before she lifted her face to his expectantly. Fiyero knew what she wanted; they had been together for so long. He kissed her lightly on her lips, careful not to smudge her makeup or to mess up her beautiful curls.

"Are you happy, dear?" Glinda asked as she rested her face lightly on his chest.

"You know me, I'm always happy," was his reply as he wrapped his arms around her shoulder. Glinda gave a contented sigh and he looked out of the window again.

Glinda was beautiful and smart. They had been together for so long. He had been told by so many people that he was lucky to have her and they were such a perfect couple. So why was he not more passionate in their relationship? Why was he more interested in his job? Why was he not more spontaneous in his affections, more responsive to hers? Why did he feel as if there was an emptiness within him, something incomplete, and how that feeling threatened to engulf him on certain days?

* * *

><p>He stood in the middle of his office, in a building not far from the Wizard's Palace. It was a small office, but there was space for a table and two chairs and it was good enough for him. There were a few captains in the Gale Force, but he was the youngest to be appointed and the only one who had risen through the ranks so quickly. There were talks of favoritism of course, since he was so close to Glinda, but everyone in the Gale Force knew better. He trained harder and worked harder than anyone else. He took an interest in the soldiers' welfare but stayed out of their private lives. He motivated his team, empowered them and led by example. If there was any complaint, it would be that he was too obsessed with his work.<p>

There was no window in his office and he never saw a need for it. He had the tendency to lose track of time when he was engrossed in his work, and there was more than once when Glinda popped in and told him that he had skipped a meal or two without him knowing.

He looked at the map in front of him. It was the map of Oz and its surrounding lands. On the map were pins of different colours. Each pin indicated an event related to the Witch, with a different colour indicating the different categories; blue for reported sightings, orange for activities that were attributed to her and red for activities where she was actually seen. He stared at the map, but he did not really need the pins to remind him; he had memorised every single report and its details. He looked at the newly added pin on his map, a red pin on the middle of the Emerald City, where the Wizard's Palace should be.

His first face-to-face encounter with the Witch.

While Oz might be more peaceful than the surrounding lands (according to the propaganda anyway), she had her fair share of crimes. There were different kinds of criminals, ranging from petty thieves to murderers to the anti-wizard resistance members who sometimes behaved more like terrorists than anything else. But there was no criminal scarier than the Wicked Witch of the West. Her powers were unprecedented. Her sorcery skills enabled her to take on and defeat many soldiers at a time. She was evil, destroying villages and taking lives without blinking an eye. She was mad and unpredictable, burning an Ozian barrack one day, destroying the hideout of a resistance party the next and then killing a group of Animals after that. She was everywhere, her ability to traverse vast distances with the aid of that flying broom allowed her to reach all corners of Oz easily. She struck at all hours and without warning, striking fear into everyone.

Fiyero knew that he was not the only one who wanted to find the Witch. There were many others who had the same goal as him. Some of them wanted to bring her to justice, to make her pay for the crimes that she had committed. Others were attracted by the rewards that were promised by The Wizard. There were also those who wanted the fame that would come with the capture of the most notorious criminal in recent Ozian history. He never thought of which category he fell into. He did not need a reason to justify his actions. He just wanted to find her, to put an end to his search that had begun so many years ago.

He thought of his encounter with the Witch again. Something bugged him. The way she looked at him, the way her shoulder slumped as if in defeat. She did not seem like someone who would give up so easily, just because there was a gun pointing at her.

She had moved her lips, wanting to say something, but no sound had come out.

It was only then that he realized what was the word that she was trying to say.

The word was Fiyero.

She was trying to call his name.

"Fiyero?"

He turned around. Glinda was at the door.

"Yes?"

Her eyes darted to the map of the Oz behind him, and she gave him a smile as she came into the room.

"Nothing, Dearest. I'm here to remind you to leave on time today. You need to freshen up before we meet my parents for dinner. You didn't forget, did you?"

Oz, he had totally forgotten about the appointment.

"Of course not," he he replied confidently. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

"That will be great, Dear," his fiancée replied as she lightly brushed her fingers across the lapel of his uniform. "If you want you can even wear your uniform."

"Wear this to a restaurant? Am I supposed to intimidate the waiters or your parents?" He rolled his eyes.

"Don't!" She chided him.

Fiyero gave a nervous laugh. Glinda was never angry with him. "Don't what?"

"Nothing, Dear," she answered quickly, her voice sweet once again. "Just don't roll your eyes. It's … it's unbecoming." She bit her lower lip and then tried to smile again. "Remember, seven," she reminded him again as she left his office, leaving behind the scent of Gillikinese Rose.

Fiyero only reached her place at seven-thirty. The Wizard had given Glinda a large suite that was converted into a small apartment for her. He knocked on her door and when there was no reply, tried the door. It was not locked. He shook his head; she never had a good grasp on security.

The light in her bedroom was on, and when he approached, he noticed that she was in bed, her back to him.

"Glinda?"

She sat up. She had changed into a V-neck pastel yellow simple dress (simple according to the blonde's definition) with stitched sequin flowers at the sides of the bodice and on the skirt. On her neck was a diamond necklace, with a matching bracelet on her wrist. But Fiyero was not drawn to the beautiful dress nor the accessories. His eyes went to her hands. She was clutching something small to her chest. And then he noticed that her makeup was ruined.

She had been crying.

"Glinda?" Fiyero approached her. "What's the matter? Is everything okay?"

Glinda turned her back to him and slipped the item into a drawer on the other side of the bed.

"Of course Dear," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging the makeup further. "I'm fine. There's something in my eyes. Just give me ten minutes to touch up," she replied.

They reached the restaurant almost an hour late and her parents were waiting. There was a sour look on her father's face as he twirled an empty wine glass between his fingers.

Their faces lit up, however, the moment they saw their precious daughter.

"Popsicle!" Glinda hugged her father first.

"Galinda my precious," her father said laughingly as she gave him a kiss on his cheek. Her parents had never gotten used to calling her Glinda. "You are getting more and more beautiful!" Glinda giggled.

"Momsey." Her mother was next.

"My dearest baby," Larena Upland said.

"Mr Tiggular." Highmuster Arduenna shook the hand of his future son-in-law.

"Call me Fiyero. And good evening, Sir," Fiyero said before he kissed the hand of Glinda's mother. "Good evening, Madame. Sorry we are late. I was held up by work."

"He's always so obsessed with his work." Glinda giggled again as she gave him a peck on his cheek before she sat on the chair that he had pulled out for her.

The waiters began to serve the food. Apparently, the Uplands had ordered for all of them while waiting.

Glinda's mother talked about how they had spent their afternoon; she had gone on a shopping spree the moment they reached the Emerald City.

"I think it will be more prudent if you come and visit us the next round," her father told her with a wink.

Fiyero doubted so.

"I'm sorry that we missed the engagement party," Glinda's father added. "It came at such a short notice we are unable to get our train tickets. What is this world coming into, when it is so difficult to even get a train ticket?" He raised his hands in the air.

Fiyero felt that he had to say something, even though he suspected that the Uplands were just unwilling to travel second class. "We're sorry for the last minute notice, Sir."

"You didn't get my precious daughter pregnant, did you?"

"Popsicle!" Glinda turned red.

Fiyero was glad that they were in a private room.

"No Sir. I respect your daughter. I will never do anything against her will."

Glinda's father laughed heartily and slapped his thigh with his hand. "I never say it is against her will. You are a handsome young man and my daughter is a beautiful young lady. Things do happen when passions run high."

"Popsicle!" Glinda's hands went to her face.

Her father continued. "Why, we all know of his scandalicious reputation!"

Larena placed a hand on her husband's arm. "I think you have a drop too much, Dear."

She was expecting her husband to protest, but to her surprise, he patted her hand lovingly before answering.

"Maybe I do."

His wife heaved an audible sigh of relief.

"Now, tell me, young man. I know that you love my daughter. But how much do you love her?"

**A/N So have I dropped enough hints in this chapter? ;)**

**A/N2 Took a line from Phantom's "All I ask of You" for Glinda's dialogue as I think that is the kind of thing that she will say. Thanks to Katherine the Fabulous for reminding me!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A/N Thank you to Katherine the Fabulous for pointing out that I had forgotten to credit Phantom of the Opera for using a line from the song "All I Ask of You". I have taken a line from that beautiful song for Glinda's dialogue in the previous chapter.**

**Apologies to those who are hoping for weekly updates. While I have completed the whole story, there is still a lot of editing and amendments to do, and sometimes it is kind of difficult to carve out 'me' time for writing.**

The weather in Munchkinland was never predictable (though some would say that they predicted that it would not be predictable). Hot, sunny mornings sometimes turned into cold, rainy afternoons. Much anticipated rain clouds would, more often than not, scattered a few drops of rain before dissipating. Sometimes what looked like a light drizzle lasted for days and caused rivers to overflow their banks. The usually mild winter could bring on a cold frost overnight and killed cattle and plants. And whenever it did not rain for a few weeks, the farmers would worry that it was another drought like the last one which lasted for years and nearly caused some isolated villages to explore cannibalism.

It was not a suitable place for farming but Munchkinland had been an agricultural state for decades, providing food to the rest of Oz, even though it was not the best place to do so, climate- and terrain-wise. But old habits die hard, and the Munchkinlanders toiled on their farms year after year, generation after generation.

It was early morning when a lone figure walked up a narrow, cobbled pathway that led to a simple house with a yellow domed roof. The ride that he had hitched had dropped him off a couple of miles away and he had walked the rest of the way. The man was simply dressed in a brown cotton shirt opened at the neck with its sleeves rolled up (the sun was blazing even though it was still early in the morning). His pants used to dark blue, but had now faded and were frayed at the legs. He carried a small bag for his personal items and another bigger bag filled with gifts. The clothes and bags were well-used and nondescript. Still, all it took was one glance to know that he was not from this region – his height, his foreign features, the diamond tattoos all over his skin and the way he walked - the grace that was still there despite the years of military training.

The man stopped in front of the door and knocked. Inside, he could hear the sounds of children shouting and running as a woman tried to make herself heard over the din. A typical day in the household. He smiled to himself.

The door opened slightly and a familiar face appeared, holding a plate of bread.

The smile that was always on the Munchkinlander's face faded when he saw who it was.

"Fiyero?" He said his name nervously. "What are you doing here?"

"I need a break from the Emerald City," the Arjiki confessed.

Boq laughed uneasily. That was always his excuse. Fiyero had been coming to Boq's farm for short stays once or twice a year just to get away from Emerald City and her politics. And Boq and Milla always welcomed him with open arms. Milla was more of Glinda's friend than his when they were in Shiz, but the Milla who was married to Boq was no longer the giggling, fashion-conscious schoolgirl from Gillikin. Glinda only came once, and then never again, claiming that it was inconvenient as the only place to sleep was the attic. The small space was used partially as a storeroom but doubled up as a guest room whenever anyone visited. There was no wardrobe to hang her silk dresses, no vanity table for her to put on her makeup in the morning and no bath tub for a luxurious soak. Fiyero suspected that there was another reason - that Glinda simply could not face the new Milla. But he had no idea if Glinda was uncomfortable with a Milla without the pretty clothes and mindless gossip, or if she was unable to face up to the fact that Milla was happy with someone who was deemed as an unconventional choice for a husband for a middle-class Gillikinese (in addition, someone who was previously interested in the blonde when they were in Shiz).

"Am I disturbing something?" he asked, sensing his friend's unease. There was once when he had turned up and Milla was in labour. Boq did not turn him away, and he was there to witness the happiness on everyone's face when Clarinda, their third child, was born. A celebration followed and it lasted for days. Fiyero thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality of Boq and his extended family on that occasion, but it was embarrassing nonetheless.

Boq was about to reply when Fiyero heard Milla's voice.

"Who's that?"

Boq turned behind the door and Fiyero could hear the couple conferring with each other before the door opened wide and Milla gave Fiyero a bear hug, strong for someone her size. She was a petite Gillikinese but still she was taller than her husband. And she was pregnant again.

"Number four?" He pretended to lose track of the number of children she had.

"Five," she said proudly as she soothed the dress across her swollen belly. Boq had once joked that Milla was only happy when she was pregnant or when there was a baby suckling at her breasts. Fiyero thought that perhaps that was why he was always getting her pregnant. There was a glister of sweat on her forehead, but the pregnancy glow was unmistakable.

"Children! Guess who's here?"

Fiyero was immediately swarmed by a group of children who knocked him to the ground. One of them gave him a wet sloppy kiss. Another child tried to pull him up at the same time that a third child tried to pull him down. And somewhere, another pair of hands was trying to relieve him of his bags, knowing that the gifts were inside. The children tried to get his attention, each of them trying to shout something into his ears, trying to outshout one another.

Fiyero laughed hard as he tried to get up, but he gave up when Boq's eldest son wrestled him to the ground and lifted his hand up with a triumphant shout.

It took some time before Boq and Milla managed to get their children off him.

The three older children, Yellowgage, Rikla and Clarinda moved to a corner of the room with his bags. Little Boq tottered after them, still too young to understand the significance of the bags, but old enough to understand that there was something exciting brewing from that corner. Clarinda pulled him into the circle that they had formed. Rikla opened up the smaller bag and announced "Clothes!" with a scrunching of her nose before the three older children all dived for the bigger bag. They took out the presents and spent the next ten minutes tearing the gift wrappers. Fiyero had bought about thirty gifts in total, a mixture of toys, books and clothes, not knowing what the children liked, but they always seemed to like whatever he bought. Squeals of delight filled the air when the presents were revealed one by one.

There was a toy horse that Fiyero had bought, a wooden horse that was painted green (like many of the toys that were sold in the Emerald City), with its mane and tail made of genuine horse hair. Both Yellowgage and Clarinda saw the toy at the same time and fought over it. Yellowgage held onto the horse's head and Clarinda, not wanting to be outdone, pulled at the tail. The ending was predictable. The tail detached from the body, and Clarinda wailed. Yellowgage moved on to another toy. Milla went over to comfort her daughter, pulling the girl to her bosom as she admonished her son for not giving in to his sister. Yellowgage passed Clarinda another toy as a peace offering, and the two were friends again.

"You're spoiling them," Boq told him good naturedly as he poured him a drink and took a bread from the plate that he was holding when he opened the door.

"No, it's alright. It's your breakfast." Fiyero waved the food away. He knew that Boq woke up every day before sunrise to work on the farm, but he would come back to join his children when they woke up for their breakfast.

"No, it's for…" he cast a glance at his wife.

"It's leftover from breakfast," Milla explained. "We are about to put it away."

Fiyero thanked them for his second breakfast.

"So how's Emerald City?"

Fiyero updated the Munchkinlander on the latest happenings. Emerald City was always 'under construction'. Old buildings were torn down, trees were cleared and grass fields were paved over so that more buildings could be built. Several government buildings that were painted one year ago were repainted again, the reason given was that the faded colour was no longer the correct shade of green. New laws were passed, controls tightened and more bureaucracy and policies were announced. Old traditions were buried, and new holidays proposed. This year's celebration for the Wizard's birthday was the 'grandest ever', but then that had been the case every year.

"Always changing, but it seems like nothing has changed," Boq commented, summing up Fiyero's sentiments in a sentence. The prince nodded.

"I think there is something that you forget to tell us, Fiyero," Milla said, her eyes twinkling as she wiped her hands on the apron tied around her ballooning waistline before she sat down.

An image flashed in his mind. A woman. Green, black and willowy. The expression on her face when she saw the face of the person who had shot her.

"So when do you intend to tell us that you and Glinda finally got engaged? When's the wedding?" Milla teased, breaking into his thoughts.

Boq chuckled.

Fiyero took a long sip from his mug, and he had a grim smile on his face when he finally spoke.

"Well, actually that is the reason why I am here. I… we need some time apart."

"What happened?" She pulled her chair closer to the table. Glinda might not visit anymore, but Milla still considered her as a close friend and was always trying to get the latest news about her.

"The engagement is kind-of off."

_He knew he was in trouble the moment the words left his mouth._

"_Very much, Sir."_

_The older man simply leaned back and smiled. "That's good."_

_But Fiyero had seen the looks on the ladies' faces and he knew that it was not good._

_He should have sworn that he love her so much he would go to the end of the world for her or jump down from highest mountain, but he did not. Instead he had given a boring, unoriginal answer, totally unworthy of Glinda. And he had hesitated before replying. _

She had initiated it. She had applied for leave and would go back to Pertha Hills with her parents.

The time apart would do them do, give them time to think, she had said monotonously, as if reciting from a script. She did not even look at his face, choosing instead to look at her manicured fingernails. He noticed that she was still wearing the engagement ring. He wondered how much of her decision was influenced by her parents.

Fiyero had protested of course. There was even a slight ache in his heart when she had mentioned it. They had been together for so long. Both their jobs required them to travel sometimes, but he knew that this time round there could be a change when she returned. The endearment 'Dear' might not apply to him anymore. She might turn up at the next party with another date, and spent the whole night dancing with another man instead of with him. She would not be there to help him navigate his way around a crowded ballroom and to fill up any lull in the conversations. But there was also relief. Relief that he did not show on his face until she had left the room.

But something came up at the last minute that demanded her attention, and her trip was delayed. Her parents left without her. Fiyero decided that he should pay Boq a visit. She did not bother to hide her relief.

Boq updated Fiyero about the farm since he had last visited. The Munchkinlander had built a pipe from a nearby river to irrigate his crops, and was planning to extend the pipe to a few more plots of land. A disease had spread through the area three months ago, killing a few of his cows, and many from his neighbours' farms. Fiyero listened with interest. Whenever he was here he would try to make himself useful and helped around the farm and the house. There was even once when he camped overnight with the two older kids in the nearby forest and taught them basic survival skills (he wondered how much they remembered though). There was a deep sense of satisfaction when he completed a task on the farm, something that was different from the sense of achievement that he felt when he accomplished something at work, but it was satisfactory nonetheless. There were times when he looked at Boq and the simple but happy life that he led and wondered if such a life was for him. But the prince knew better. His father, the chieftain of the Arjiki tribe, was still strong and healthy, but as his only son and heir, he had an obligation to the Arjikis that he had to fulfill sooner or later.

"Oh, by the way, do stay away from the shed, the one near to the river," Milla told him.

"Yes," Boq bobbed his head eagerly. "Don't go there. The roof is in danger of collapsing."

"I can fix it," Fiyero offered.

Milla shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Boq is still working on the measurements for the roof. Anyway, there's no hurry. We hardly use that place. Just stay away from it. We will never forgive ourselves if you got hurt when you are with us."

Boq brought Fiyero around the farm after breakfast. Like all farmers, he practised crop rotation and so not all the fields were in use at the same time. He brought Fiyero to the chicken shed, making the captain start his break with the easy task of collecting eggs from the chickens. The friends chitchatted as they worked together, the camaraderie between them undiminished by the months that they were apart. They never talked about Shiz anymore though. Their undergraduate lives was so different from the lives that they led now that it was more like a dream than a part of their past.

The sun was setting by the time the two friends came back from outside. Dinner was ready and they had a simple dinner before they retired for the night. The children wanted to join Fiyero in the attic but Boq stopped them. Not today, he told the children. But that did not stop Yellowgage and Rikla from sneaking up after the lights were off, and they asked Fiyero to tell them bedtime stories of glorious fighting and brave deeds.

Fiyero exercised every morning when he was in the Emerald City, and he tried to keep to his routine even when he was out of the city. He woke up at the same time as Boq, when Milla and the children were still asleep. The duo agreed to meet up after his exercise. Fiyero had been here many times and knew his way around the farm.

On that day, he jogged around the perimeter of Boq's farm before branching out towards the nearby river. By the river, he chose a clear spot and did his sit-ups, followed by some pull-ups using one of the tree branches that hung low to the ground.

The dark clouds came in when he was doing his cooling down exercises and it started to rain even before he was done. It would not have bothered him if it was a light drizzle, but the rain started off heavy and intensified quickly. Flashes of lightning cut across the sky and he knew that it was dangerous to remain in the open.

Fiyero scanned the surroundings. There was nothing nearby but trees, until he saw the shed that Milla had warned him about. But that was the only shelter within sight and Fiyero ran towards the building, the mud splashing all over his boots and pants.

Like most of the houses in Munchkinland, there was no lock on the shed door, just a simple latch to secure the door. Fiyero pushed open the door just as another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. He stepped into the room, glad that he was out of the rain at last.

He wiped the rainwater off his limbs and took off his shirt, wringing the fabric to squeeze out the excess water. He looked at the shed. Boq had mentioned that the roof was going to collapse, but the roof seemed secure to his inexperienced eye. There was also no leak that he could detect.

He looked around the dark room. The shed was used as a storeroom. There were a few louvre windows, the slats angled in such a way that rain could not get in. A wooden ramp led to a hayloft that ran along the length of the shed two-third up the wall. There was a cart with a broken wheel at a corner, a toolbox with a box of nails next to it, some wooden planks and a large bundle of firewood. A few rattan baskets were stacked together, one of them filled with old baby clothes that no doubt would be used again very soon. Fiyero took the largest item from the pile and wiped himself dry, silently apologising to Milla's unborn baby. There was an old chest of drawers, cracking at the sides, with a box of fine china cutlery, a layer of dust on top. It was most likely a wedding gift from years ago. It could be from Glinda, since he could not remember what she had bought, or maybe not, as neither the box nor the picture on the box was pink.

He went up the ramp, listening to the creaks that accompanied every step, aware that the ramp (instead of the roof) could give way any moment.

The hayloft was smaller than he expected. Both sides of the loft were lined with square bales of hay, stacked side by side. A large, thick blanket was draped over the last two bales. There was a plate of bread on the floor, the half-eaten bread looking very much like the ones they had for breakfast yesterday. Perhaps the children had used this shed as a play area. He could imagine them telling one another ghost stories under the sheet, or pretending that they were on an adventure, in a ship bound for uncharted lands. Or maybe it was just a place to hide from Boq or Milla when one of the kids got into trouble, until the said parent cooled down or hunger drove the child home.

He pulled away the blanket, expecting to find one of the children hiding in the narrow space between the two bales of hay, a nest of mice secretly kept as pets, perhaps a few children storybooks or a stash of cookies.

He certainly did not expect to find the Wicked Witch of the West.

**A/N Description of Boq's house was extracted from the book. In the book, Milla had more than five children, and three of their names were mentioned - Rikla, Yellowgage and Clarinda. The name Little Boq comes from my very limited imagination.**

**A/N The part below is actually from Chapter 5. But I would like to share this earlier so that this chapter does not end with a cliffy =) This also means that chapter 5 will be about 400 words shorter ;P**

His hand moved instinctively to his hip, reaching for the gun that was not there, but his breath caught in his throat even before his fingers closed on nothing.

The Witch's eyes were closed, her head tilted to the side. Her hands hanged slack, lifeless.

She was dead.

His hand froze.

Fiyero kneeled down next to the Witch, his hand reaching out to her. He touched her neck with his fingertips, searching for a pulse. He could not detect it, but he knew by then that she was not dead. Her skin was not cold, but hot, too hot in fact. He tried again, shifting his fingers slightly. He found her pulse after a while, faint and barely there. The Witch inhaled softly and then exhale.

It was only then that he realised that the rain had stopped, as sudden as it had begun. He could no longer hear the pelting of the raindrops against the windows. In the silence that followed, the captain realised that he could no longer hear the sound of her breathing.

His hand brushed against her forehead. Her eyes remained close. She did not even stir. He pressed his hand against her cheek and held his breath until she took hers. The wildest thought came into his mind – she needed his touch to trigger the most fundamental survival instinct in her; she had forgotten how to breathe until he came along.

The next thing he knew, he had folded the blanket twice and wrapped the Witch with it, covering her from head to toe but leaving her face exposed. A series of alarm bells went off in his head, but he ignored them as he pulled her close to him and wrapped an arm around her, his heart pounding, the thick blanket between them.

He tucked her head under his chin and pressed his other hand against her bare cheek. The prince took a deep breath, willing her to do the same, trying to pull her back from wherever she was drifting off to.

Breathe, dammit. Breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N I usually don't post at this timing (because it is really agonising to wait for the rest of the world to wake up and read and review) but this chapter was ready 24 hours ago and I was unable to post due to ff net's server error.**

He knew what a sight he was.

He knew how it looked like.

The Captain of the Guards, all blue diamonds on rich ochre, carrying a figure covered totally with a plain, grey blanket. Under the sheet, her hot, green face rested in the crook of his neck, a hand on his chest, her breathing shallow. She lay motionless in his arms, unresponsive to the bumps as he manoeuvered his way across the fields. He would not know if she was still alive if not for the sporadic shallow breaths and the way the heat rolled off her in waves.

The rain had stopped, but everything and everywhere was wet. The ground squished wherever he trod, raindrops glided off the leaves at the slightest tremble. He chose his path carefully as he made his way back to the house, favouring solid rocks over muddy ground, staying away from the trees. He had no idea how much harm a single drop of water could do or how deadly a splash could be.

Milla's face paled when she opened the door and saw who it was. She did not need to look under the blanket to know who he was carrying.

"She's burning up," he told her, his voice cracking slightly. The rational part of his mind wondered why.

"Children!" Milla turned around and shooed her children in the opposite direction, towards the back door. "Go out and play!"

"But it's wet outside!" Clarinda whined.

"Just go!" Milla barked and the children nearly tripped over their own feet in their mad rush to get out, not understanding why their mother had suddenly behaved so illogically. She had never let them played outside after the rain. Washing muddy clothes was never one of Milla's favourite chores.

Fiyero went up to the attic and Milla hovered behind him as he placed the Witch gently on the bed. He turned and looked at her.

"Do you have anything for open wounds?" he asked as he carefully peeled back the black skirt that was sticking to the Witch's leg, revealing a sticky, reddish wound on her calf. The palm-size wound stood out, even against her green skin. It was swollen, angry and crusted with pus.

Milla gulped and nodded before she rushed off to get the medication.

It was Boq who came back with a tray filled with supplies, although Fiyero did not realise that his friend had returned. Perhaps the sight of his children wrestling in the mud had brought him running. Fiyero looked at the items laid out on the tray. A ceramic container of salve, a roll of gauze, cotton wool, tape, a pair of scissors and a bowl filled with a clear colourless liquid.

Fiyero eyed the last item suspiciously, even though he could smell the acrid smell emanating from the bowl.

"It's… it's vinegar wa-water. It won't huuurt her," the Munchkinlander stammered.

He tried to clean the wound as best as he could. The bullet had not penetrated her flesh deeply; he had shot her with precision, to stop her from harming the Wizard. It was a tiny wound, awfully painful at the onset, but it should have recovered by now. But here it was, deeper and wider than before and badly infected. The result of negligence, lack of nutrients, inadequate rest and Oz knew what else.

The Witch hissed in her fever-induced sleep as he wiped the wound with the vinegar water and he paused, waiting for the pain on her face to go away before he continued, gentler than before. He applied a layer of salve on the wound before he covered it with a piece of gauze. He did not know what was in the salve. It was most probably some homemade Munchkinlander remedy, but he knew Boq well enough to know that his university friend would never harm anyone, not even a witch.

He looked up when he was done and saw Boq staring nervously at him. The Munchkinlander looked away and tried to look busy by putting the things back onto the tray, his hands trembling. It was only then that Fiyero remembered. He had just found the Wicked Witch of the West on his farm. Harbouring a criminal was a crime punishable by imprisonment, and he was sure that Boq knew about that. But Fiyero had other things to worry about.

"When was the last time she ate anything?"

Boq looked up with a start, and he knew; they had stopped giving her food because he was here. It would arouse his suspicion if they went to the shed several times a day with food and medical supplies. And so the couple had concocted the story that the shed was in danger of collapsing, to keep him and everyone else away. There was no way they could let him find out that the Wicked Witch of the West was there, because he was a Captain of the Gale Force and it was his job to arrest her.

Boq mumbled something about food and he quickly left the room. The Munchkin nearly tumbled down the stairs in his haste to get away.

The rain had stopped and the sky was still grey, but the skylight at the rooftop let in some natural light, and Fiyero finally had a chance to take a good look at the Witch since he found her at the hayloft. Her eyes were shut, with a frown that seemed permanent on her long, stern face. She was tall for a woman, but thin like a girl. The black dress that she wore was most probably the same dress that she had worn when he first saw her in the Throne Room. It had a high collar with long sleeves, the skirt reaching her ankles. The fabric was fraying at the edges, long black threads almost the same colour as her hair. The dress was patched in so many places that it was no longer a black plain dress, but one made up of different fabrics in other dark colours and an occasional bright one. There was even a sudden flush of pink on the bodice. The dress clung to her frame, showing him how thin she was underneath. Fiyero might not have any sister, but he had dated (and bedded) enough women to know the number of layers that they wore underneath their dresses. The woman in front of him had no such luxury. He covered her with the blanket that he had used the night before and paused when he tucked her hand under it, surprised by his own tenderness. He turned away from the Witch, and tried to distract himself by searching through his bag for some clean and dry clothes.

He had just finished changing when Milla came up, a small bowl and a baby spoon in her hand.

"Soup," she said. "Vegetable soup," she added, as she showed him the bits of carrots floating inside, as if she knew something that he did not.

Fiyero propped the Witch up before he filled the spoon with soup and pressed it against her lips. For a moment, he thought that she would not take it, but her lips opened slightly with his probing and he tipped it in. He continued to feed her, one small spoon after another, pausing in between so that she would not choke. Milla sat facing Fiyero, on the other side of the Witch, a handkerchief in her hand, ready to wipe off any liquid that leaked from her mouth. The bowl was less than a quarter full, but still it took a long time before it was empty.

Milla left with the dirty cutlery, but not before reminding Fiyero that lunch would be ready soon.

"We'll have vegetable soup for lunch," she said, lifting the bowl. "I'll tell the kids that they are not allowed to come up," she added. The kids would blabber to their friends about the green girl in the attic, and that was one thing that none of them wanted.

Fiyero thanked her with a nod.

He looked at the sleeping figure in his arms. The Wicked Witch of the West. The terror of Oz. Helpless like a newborn perhaps for the first time in her life. She would most probably be too weak to protect herself even if she opened her eyes that very moment. She was totally defenceless. Fiyero knew that it was a good time to call in reinforcements, to bring her back to the Emerald City and put her on trial. The lines on her forehead seemed to deepen, as if she could hear his thoughts. Fiyero knew that he should lower the Witch onto the bed, but he pulled her closer to him and brushed his fingers across her forehead, trying to ease those troubled lines.

He did not understand why there was an aching pain in his heart.

* * *

><p>The thing about children was that they never did what they were told. They never listened to instructions.<p>

On that first day, they tried to go up to the attic at least ten times, sometimes calling loudly for Uncle Fiyero, sometimes sneakily (or as sneakily as a child could, since their ascent was usually punctuated with giggles and loud whispers). In the end, Boq, under the advice of his wife, pulled a rope across the attic and stringed up a curtain, effectively partitioning the room into two and hiding the bed from plain sight. He then scrambled downstairs again, not daring to meet the Vinkun's eyes. When Fiyero came downstairs, the Munchkinlander talked nervously and nearly choked on his food, until Milla, when the children went out to play, chided him lovingly.

"No one is going to get arrested. Not under my roof," she declared with more pompous than the Wizard. Boq sneaked a glance at Fiyero, whose face remained impassive. But Milla's confidence seemed to ease his fears somehow.

Yellowgage, the boldest among the children, asked Fiyero what was hidden in the attic. There must be something, he reasoned, since the children were now forbidden to go upstairs.

"Is it stolen treasure from the Emerald City?" he asked.

"Is it Glinda the Good?" Clarinda ventured a guess, now that someone else had started the topic. She knew that Glinda the Good was a friend of her parents, but had never seen her before, as she was born after Glinda's one and only visit. However, she had seen photos of Glinda the Good in the newspapers, photos of a petite, smiling blonde with immaculate makeup and who never seemed to wear the same gown twice. The little girl had taken an instant liking to her (or rather, the photos), so much so that she had declared that she wanted to be Clarinda the Good when she grew up.

"Is it an Animal?" Rikla, who understood the Animal Banns, asked.

"Is it Another Woman?" Her eyes grew wide as she remembered some gossip that she had overheard about the baker the last time she went to the market with Milla.

Milla hushed her then and threatened her own children.

"Anyone who tries to go up again will be severely punished," she told them as she looked around the room for a suitable form of punishment. "I think the pots are in need of a good scrub."

The children looked at the dirty pots in horror and scattered.

Fiyero still went to the fields with Boq. He helped with the extension of the new irrigation system. He checked on the crops and milked the cows. They talked to each other like before, but there were more silent moments now, times when suddenly the two men were at a sudden loss of words. The appearance of the Witch seemed to bring them closer with her secret, yet pushed them apart. The evenings were slightly better. With the children around, there was no need to think of a topic. The children always dominated the conversations; they always had something to say. Or they would demand stories from Fiyero, and the Arjiki would entertain them with embellished stories of the Arjiki warriors or the people living in the Emerald City.

He went upstairs and checked on the Witch frequently. He checked on her breathing and her fever and cleaned her wound. He adjusted the blanket twenty times a day and made sure that she was comfortable. He had an unspoken arrangement with Milla. She would set aside a small serving of her cooking when she was done and Fiyero would find an opportunity to bring up the food when the children were not looking and fed her. He looked at the resting figure in the attic, a hundred questions on his mind, none of them with an answer.

She opened her eyes a few times, but they always closed before she could fully take in her surroundings. Her wound healed faster now that it was being tended to. Her fever receded, her skin became less red and her breathing steadier.

Milla made some hot chocolate one day and Fiyero brought a cup to the attic. He fed the Witch, and wiped her lips gently with a handkerchief when that was done. Her lips were grey and cracked at several places. He supposed she was born with grey lips and it was not a manifestation of some underlying illness.

"You're not going to die of something else, are you?" he jested lightly, more to himself than to her.

The woman in his arms stirred and Fiyero pulled her closer instinctively. She opened her eyes slightly, and he thought that she was looking at him with unfocused eyes.

"Fiyero?" she whispered, her voice hoarse, the last syllabus so soft he could not hear it. And her eyes were close again.

He had heard his name called so many times by so many people. His parents called his name lovingly, menacingly (when he got into trouble). His teachers usually spoke his name with disdain. His colleagues would usually call him Tiggular or Captain (or whatever was his title at that time). Friends like Boq said his name with fondness. Girls cooed his name flirtatiously while Glinda always had that possessive tone with her. But the woman's voice was laced with sadness when she called his name, as if he was part of a past that she did not want to remember, as if he had broken her heart, one way or another, over and over again. But he knew that it was not possible. He might not remember every single girl that he had met, but there was no way he could forget her if he had met her before the night at the Throne Room. There was no way he could forget a girl with green skin.

"Who are you?" he asked as he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. But the Witch's eyes remained close, and she did not answer.

He was not there when she regained consciousness.

He was out with Boq. The Munchkinlander had found a breach in the fence around one of the paddocks, and the two friends worked together to get it fixed within the day. They were greeted by a strange sight when they went back to the house in the evening. The children were all seated on their tiny stools, surrounded by pots of different sizes.

"Where's Mommy?" Boq asked.

It was Clarinda who spoke.

"She told us to stay inside." She traced the perimeter formed by the circle of pots with her tiny finger. "Or we'll have no dinner."

"It's the Animal," Rikla explained as she pointed upstairs. The girl believed that her parents had hidden an Animal upstairs, in defiance of the Animal Banns. "It speaks."

Fiyero dashed upstairs without another word. He could hear Boq as the latter tried to catch up, but the Arjiki did not stop for his friend. The makeshift curtain was drawn, and he pulled it aside with such force that he nearly ripped the fabric. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The Witch sat on the floor, her back against the wall. She was feeding herself with a spoon. Her hand trembled, and the spoon shook precariously, but it did not drop. Milla was next to her, a bowl held under the shaking spoon to catch any spillage.

"You're awake!" Boq cried with delight as he rushed over and hugged her.

The Witch stiffened and dropped the spoon into the bowl, surprised at the sudden gesture, but she quickly recovered and gave Boq a wan smile.

Fiyero took a step forward, wanting to cross the room and pulled her into his arms, but caught himself at the last minute. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, and crossed his ankles for good measure

"You're awake," he said, his voice stolid, a huge contrast to the affectionate tone in Boq's voice when he said the very same words, trying to affect an air of indifference. The Witch's smile faded.

The Munchkin noticed her reaction.

"He saved you," he tried to explain to her. "He found you in the shed. You were running a high fever and he brought you back. He has been taking care of you for the past few days."

The Witch nodded slightly to acknowledge Boq's statement but did not say anything.

Fiyero stayed where he was, away from them. Milla and Boq sat on opposite sides of the Witch, the wide grins on their faces unmistakable. The couple said a word here and there. Boq cracked a joke about the Witch having to put up with Milla's terrible cooking. Milla tried to swipe him on his arm but missed. He laughed at her terrible aim. She pretended to be annoyed with his antics and whispered something to the Witch, and got a tiny smile in return. Boq laughed heartily when the Witch finished the soup, as if she was one of his children who had said something clever. The prince felt like a stranger, an intruder, a voyeur looking at a charmed circle of friends.

Milla looked at Fiyero and beckoned to Boq. The couple left quietly, leaving only him and the Witch in the attic.

The Witch leaned against the louvre window and looked out of the slats at the ground below. Fiyero wished that she would look at him. He wanted her to say something, to give him a faint smile like the one that she had given Milla.

"They like you." He said instead.

She did not reply.

He crossed the room and stood in front of her, his arms folded.

"They like you enough to risk their lives for you," he added when there was still no response.

The Witch pursed her lips and continued to look out of the window. It was a long time before she spoke.

"Really?" He was not surprised to hear the sarcasm in her voice. "Who in their right mind will like a Witch? They fear me, Captain. And I despise them. They're just pawns, tools that can be easily disposed. I hold them against their will. I threaten to turn their children into scarecrows if they do not provide me with food and shelter."

"They don't look as if they are being held against their will," he stated plainly as he sat down in front of her.

"I cast a spell on them. I turned them into brainless, giggling fans of the Wicked Witch. I control their minds. They are nothing but mindless puppets, programmed to do my bidding."

"You're not a convincing liar," he told her.

She finally looked at him.

"Really? Are you an expert in differentiating truths and lies? You with your extensive experience dealing with the Wizard and his minions?" She replied mockingly.

"Do it then. Turn me into another brainless, giggling fan of yours. I can't wait." He challenged her with a tight smile.

She turned away, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth.

"I just may."

She let out a sigh after a while and looked at him again. There was a note of finality in her voice when she spoke again.

"Enough of these pleasantries, Captain. I know what you want. I'll go with you. Just don't … just leave them alone. You don't need more blood on your hands." She clawed at the walls for support as she struggled to stand up. Fiyero followed, eyeing her trembling limbs warily, ready for her. Her legs gave way at the last moment and he grabbed her by her arms, breaking her fall.

She jerked her arms away as if his touch burned, her eyes wide, and slammed her shoulder against the wall before she slid onto the floor clumsily.

"You should rest," Fiyero told her, trying not to show the sting that he felt.

A mixture of hope and disbelief flooded her face, and the Witch looked away.

"You have not fully recovered. I will need to do a lot of explanation if anything happens to you on the way back."

"And when I am stronger?" she asked after a while, her voice softer.

He gave a textbook answer.

"I'll bring you back to the Emerald City when you're better. Most probably you will go to Southstairs, but I will ensure that you will have a fair trial."

The Witch looked down at her leg as her hand strayed to where the wound was. She gave a bitter laugh.

"A temporary reprieve thanks to you. How lucky I am." But she sounded as if she felt anything but lucky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

He tied her up.

He bound her hands and legs to prevent her from escaping when he was not in the house. It was overkill, he knew. She was so weak she was unable to stand without support, but she had escaped once while she was under his watch, and he did not intend to make the same mistake twice. Milla's face turned white when he started to wind the ropes around the pair of green wrists and Boq made strangling noises. The Witch only looked back at him defiantly, with not a single trace of fear in her eyes. But he did not want to bring her back to Emerald City in her weakened state of health. Southstairs would kill her before the trial started (if there was one, despite what he said about getting her a fair trial).

It lasted less than two hours before he left a startled Boq at the fields and stomped back to the house. He marched upstairs, ignoring the children as they called him to join them in some game that they were playing. He had a small Arjiki dagger that he always kept with him, a gift from his father when he came of age, and he whipped it out the moment he reached the top of the stairs. She did not even recoil at the sight of the weapon. He grabbed her ankle and cut the rope, pretending not to notice the way she flinched away from his touch, as if his bare hand was more capable of slicing her skin than the blade. He rubbed the skin around her ankles to get the blood flowing before he did the same for the rope around her wrists. He had always been strict with his prisoners, regardless of their age, gender and looks. He had no idea why he was making an exception for her. An exception to one of the top terrorists in Oz. Maybe she had really cast a spell on him, turning him softhearted. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand, checking if her fever had recurred in the short period when she was tied up, all the while cursing himself for being so cruel, for being so kind.

"Are you always so nice to your prisoners, Captain?" she asked, her tone faintly mocking.

He did not know how to answer.

She wanted to dress her wound herself but it was at the side of her calf, towards the back, and she could not reach it without twisting her leg at an odd angle. So Fiyero continue to re-dress the wound twice a day despite her protests, keeping the supplies downstairs so that she could not do it herself. He told himself that he was doing the best that he could to speed up her recovery. He was in a farm (though owned by a friend) with the Wicked Witch, with a rooming arrangement that was less than satisfactory. There were a hundred ways things could go wrong. Her rebel friends could come to her rescue or she could run away. She might even harm Boq and his family, though somehow deep down he knew that she would not do that. But he could not bear to tie her up again.

He tried to question her on the day she appeared in the Throne Room, on her motive and her accomplice who had jumped out of the window just as he entered the room. She simply clammed up, and nothing that he said could make her reveal her secrets. And the evil eyes that Boq and Milla gave him whenever they caught him interrogating her left him unsettled. They made him felt as if he was a playground bully and they have caught him pushing a sweet little girl to the ground.

"You know my name." He broached the topic one day.

She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. She was seated on the floor, her knees bent, but the difference in their heights did not seem to bother her at all.

"You called me by my name, when you were sick."

The corners of her lips twitched. Oz, she could be so expressive when she chose to.

"You'd rather I don't." She sounded amused.

"I don't mean that," He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath. He wondered how much he should say without sounding like an idiot. How much he should reveal without sounding like he was crazy. He looked down, at the space between his feet and hers. "I – "

"I suppose it grates on your ears," she cackled.

"No. I mean – "

"You don't have to be so chivalrous, Captain."

"I'm n– "

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I know I'm no nightingale."

He let out an explosive breath. "Don't you ever let anyone else talk?"

She tilted her head and looked at him with utmost seriousness. "Cut off my tongue then."

He could only look back at her, speechless.

She started to walk around the attic when her leg was better, when not every step would send a shot of pain through her leg. That was how Boq and Fiyero found her when they came back from the fields one day. Clarinda told them that the Animal was restless (Rikla had convinced her that their parents were harbouring an Animal upstairs); they had been hearing footsteps from above the whole afternoon. When they went up, they saw her pacing, a tiny grimace on her pale face whenever she put her weight on the healing leg.

"You should rest," Fiyero said. She ignored him.

She only stopped when Boq told her that the children could hear her downstairs.

"Lie down," Fiyero commanded. Surprisingly, she heeded and she lay on her side as he peeled off the gauze to check on her wound, her expression that of an Animal about to be gutted.

"All this walking is not going to speed up your recovery," he commented.

"I don't need your advice." He had never met any girl as stubborn as her.

"I'm just trying to help."

"You can help me by not shooting me in the first place, Captain." And she closed her eyes after giving a dramatic sigh.

Fiyero looked at her and wondered if he should laugh or be angry at the last comment.

"She isn't as evil as they say, you know," Boq whispered after a while.

Fiyero looked at him in surprise. He had not spoken up for her so far. The Munchkin continued, encouraged by the fact that the Captain did not ask him to shut up.

"As a matter of fact, I will not say that she is evil at all. She's smart, the smartest person that I have ever met. She's a good friend. She's absolutely steadfast with her loyalty once you've gained her trust. She totally genuine, unlike some pretentious people we know; what you see is what you get. So what if she is not your typical giggling young lady? What if she does not really conform to the norms, what if she does not believe in everything that the Wizard says? Who does? I'm sure that even you don't. She is just more vocal about it. She is just more passionate in helping the less fortunate. And she is willing to stand up for her beliefs."

"I would like to meet her too," a female voice quipped.

Boq looked at her in surprise. He thought that she had fallen asleep.

"Who are you referring to?" he asked.

The green girl sat up.

"This _wonderful, sparkling_ person that you are talking about."

Boq was peeved.

"Well, if you have been eavesdropping –"

"I wasn't eavesdropping. I was trying very hard to sleep!"

Fiyero chuckled. It was hard to imagine her as a notorious terrorist when she behaved like that. She gave him a menacing glare.

Boq ploughed on.

"You know that I was talking about you. You definitely need more people to speak up for you. It always surprises me how much you are willing to give and not ask for anything in return, how you don't bother to correct people's misconceptions about you. Letting them find out the truth on their own is one thing, but you seem intent in letting everyone thinks the worst of you. Things may be better if you are willing to open your mouth and ask for help. Oz knows how much you need people on your side. You are just being misunderstood, and being used."

"Really? I thought I am a rebel."

"Whether you are a rebel or a loyalist depends on who is in power at the moment."

"I'm rude and sarcastic."

"The sarcasm is your defence. You're just shy and an introvert. You are at a total loss when it comes to socializing and interaction."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Hey, I ain't so bad!" Boq humph.

"Maybe you're right," she admitted after a while and Boq smiled, thinking that he had won the argument, until she continued. "At least you did not alienate the whole school on her first day and stun the whole class with her uncontrollable sorcery skills!"

"That was an accident! You didn't intend to do it. Right –" Boq turned to a confused Fiyero, and then he closed his mouth.

"Forget it. I'm not getting through to you. I might as well talk to a tree." The Munchkin left the room in a huff.

The two of them shared the attic, sleeping side-by-side, a small gap between them. There was no other room available, besides the shed where he had found her. He let her have the thin mattress while he slept on the floor. He was a soldier and had slept in more uncomfortable places.

He found himself observing her in the dark hours of the night when he could not sleep (she had threatened to claw out his eyes when she caught him looking at her once during the daytime. He was pretty sure that she would not do it though). Her eyes would close and her breathing would slow down, and then there would be some noise – a sheep bleeping, a wolf howling in the nearby forest, or one of the children talking in his or her sleep, and her eyes would pop open, alert. It seemed that she never truly slept. He wondered about the life that she led, always on the run, the sense of danger ever present. The kind of toil it left on her. He did not think that it was the kind of life that anyone would choose willingly.

"Go to sleep," he told her one night when she tossed around, unable to sleep with all the racket that one of Boq's cows made. There was a full moon and the moonlight came in through the skylight. It gave her skin a slight sheen, as if someone had dusted silvery powder on her face, illuminating her sharp features.

"I'll protect you from the cow," he jested. In the distance, the cow mooed mournfully again, protesting its innocence.

She laughed in the semi-darkness, her eyes closed.

"I thought the Gale Force only protect the innocent. I didn't know they protect even the wicked." Her voice was slightly drowsy. She sounded dreamy. He liked it.

"Why do you do it?" he asked after a while.

She did not reply, though he was quite sure she knew what he was talking about.

He waited for a while before he rephrased his question.

"Why does a _wonderful, sparkling_ girl like you give up everything and go against the Wizard?"

She chuckled, her eyes still closed. "There's nothing much to give up, Captain."

Another lull, and he thought that she had finally fallen asleep when she replied without a trace of sarcasm.

"He's not fit to be a ruler."

"Why?"

She opened her eyes. There was nothing sleepy about them.

"He's a liar and a fraudster. He's not wonderful. He just pulled the wool over everyone's eyes."

"That's a harsh thing to say. Everyone lied once in a while." He thought of all the sweet nothings that he had said to the different girls throughout his life.

"He lies every single day. He lies about every single thing. He's not fit to rule. He claims that he cares for the people, but he doesn't give a damn at all. All he wants is power, and blind worship and adulation from the people."

"He's trying."

"You call that trying? I can only see him making one mistake after another, using one lie to cover up another. Look at Boq. Do you know how much he has to pay the treasury every year to use the land? Look at his harvest. He can get a better price if he sells them in the bigger towns. But there are tolls every inch of the way, taxes on the produce, courtesy of the Wizard. Whatever he earns is barely enough for his expenses. And the children. They should be in school, but the nearest school is so far away. Milla is doing the best that she can, but it won't be very long before she cannot teach them anymore. Boq managed to study in Shiz because the whole town chipped in. Do you think they can do that again for his children? And the Animals! 'Animals should be seen and not heard'. That's going back a hundred years! Animals forced to leave their jobs. People and Animals being persecuted for speaking up! The Quadlings forced to evacuate their homes so that the land can be dredged for rubies. And all these while the Wizard is enjoying life in his ivory tower, feasting and entertaining every day while the people suffered."

"No one is persecuted for speaking up," Fiyero told her.

"Really? What about Doctor Dillamond?"

"Doctor Dillamond? That old Goat? What about him?"

"Do you know where he is, Captain?"

"Where is he?"

"You mean you really don't know? My dear, naïve Captain." She cackled and turned away.

* * *

><p>There were only a few things the green girl could do when she was upstairs – eat, sleep or walk. Boq brought up some baby clothes that needed to be patched before the arrival of the new baby but that only kept her occupied for two days. And so she was almost ecstatic when Milla found some old text books in a box under her bed.<p>

She fled to the other side of the attic, the dusty tomes cradled gently in her arms after she had muttered her heartfelt thanks to the Gillikinese. She sat down next to the window and read the first book that she picked up. She poured over the pages as if she had not seen a book in years, a tiny smile on her lips as her eyes moved over the text. Fiyero brought up her lunch and she would not have touched the food if Milla did not threaten to feed the books to the fire.

He looked at her, amused, as she continued to read, oblivious to everything else. She seemed like such a normal girl so long as he stayed away from certain sensitive topics such as the Wizard and politics. She rubbed her eyes occasionally and blinked when she strained her eyes too much. A lock of hair came loose from her plait and fell across her face, and she absentmindedly twirled the hair around her finger and then continued to hold the book, anchoring the lock of hair. Sometimes she would bring the end of that lock to her face and used it to relieve an itch, or to chew on it. Fiyero was quite sure that she had no idea she was doing it. The book bound her to the spot, chaining her more effectively than any rope or chain. She did not even realise that he had been observing her for quite some time.

He sat down next to her.

"You like reading."

She did not hear him. He repeated again. She looked up, surprised, and beamed when she registered his question. The smile took years off her face. He found himself smiling back.

"I love books. There's so much that you can learn by reading. Books are everything. It's sharing of ideas, information about people and places, capturing of history, recording of knowledge to be passed on to the next generation, information that can be disseminated far and wide. You can learn so much from books. It broadens your horizon without you even stepping out of your room. It transports you to another world, another era simply with words," she gushed, her smile widening by the second. "It's Math, Geography, Anthropology, Language, Biology, Poetry, History, Chemistry, Music, Carpentry, Medicine, Physics, anything and everything you want, right here." She pressed her palm on the open page to emphasise her point.

"They always say a picture paints a thousand words, but I'll choose a book over a picture anytime," she added with a laugh, not the usual cackle that she gave but a genuine happy laughter that he had never heard from her. Fiyero never read unless where necessary, but from the way she gushed over it, the way her face lit up when she talked about it, he was almost sold on the idea that books were the most wonderful thing in the world. He wanted to shift closer to her until their knees were touching, and asked her to read from the book so that he could dip his head closer to hers and listen to her low melodic voice.

She closed the book, oblivious to his thoughts, and showed him the title. It was one of Milla's History textbooks when she was studying in Shiz.

"Do you know that this is just one book in a series? Do you remember the time when Doctor Dillamond brought in the whole set and – " she trailed off, the smile on her face faltered when she suddenly realized what she had just said.

"Wait a minute, you were in Doctor Dillamond's class?" He did not expect that. She had mentioned the old Goat, but he thought that she knew him from somewhere, or have heard of his plight from someone. He suspected that she was around his age, but to find out that she was in his History class… Then why did he not remember her? He did not attend every single lesson but he was sure that he would remember if there was a green girl in his class, even if she had only attended one single lesson. He tried to visualise the seating arrangement in his History class. There were ten rows of seats in the lecture room. The students were usually seated at the back, more interested in doing their own things or chatting with their friends than to pay attention to the professor. He went through row by row, face by face, name by name. There was no girl with green skin, no girl with black, straight hair. The first three rows were always empty, nobody liked to sit there. Or was there?

"No." She averted her glance.

"But you were there. You've just mentioned it. Where were you usually seated? Who did you usually sit with?" he asked.

She shook her head, more dismay than denial. "No, I was not there." She closed the book and hugged her knees close to her as she looked out of the window. "I was never there. Never there." And she was distant again.

"When was the last time you cut your hair?" he asked one day when he had stood there for some time watching her redo her braid. It was fascinating; the way her fingers worked quickly as if they had a mind of their own, twisting and twirling the locks to overlap one another to form a braid. That was not his favourite part of the re-braiding process though. There was this moment, when she shook her head gently to loosen the braid and her hair fell across her back. She would always closed her eyes and take a deep breath before she started to redo her braid. She seemed almost relax then, and Fiyero had the strange notion that if he could freeze that moment, if he could capture that mood, he would be able to find out her secrets.

She looked at him. She had been quiet, withdrawn even, since Fiyero found out that she used to study in Shiz. He had tried to find out more, but suddenly her past, like the reason of her appearance in the Throne Room, became a restricted topic; she refused to say anything. The girl looked at the hair in her hand and seemed to take her time deciding if she should entertain his question.

"Long enough," she replied after a while.

"Isn't it kind of difficult to be on the run when you are so busy plaiting your hair?"

She scowled at him. He smirked.

"I don't have the time." Fiyero smiled inwardly. He should have baited her long ago.

"You have the time now."

"Oh yes, you're right." She smacked her forehead with her hand, as if she was stupid not to think of that and started to walk in circles, gesturing wildly with her hands. "Now where's the nearest hairdresser? Do you think I need to make an appointment? Maybe the hairdresser will accept walk-ins. But wait, only after she has screamed and fainted. And only if she does not raise the alarm. Or does Southstairs come with an in-house barber? Do all prisoners get a monthly haircut?"

Fiyero leaned against the wall and let her finish her rant before he grinned at her. He made an offer.

"I can cut it for you if you don't mind."

She stopped pacing. The surprise on her face was evident. And after what seemed like a long while, she gave a tentative nod, so slight Fiyero almost did not see it.

He spoke to Milla. The light in the attic was not bright enough to cut anyone's hair, she argued. After some deliberation, she decided that the whole family would make an impromptu trip to town. The family of six (soon-to-be seven) made a ruckus as they prepared to leave, and then the whole house suddenly fell silent when the door slammed shut behind them.

Fiyero waited for a while just in case one of the children forgot something and came back for it. The house remained quiet, and he brought her down the stairs, leading the way.

She had been so used to the dim light upstairs that the bright sunlight streaming in from the wide, open windows downstairs caught her by surprise. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, and nearly missed her footing on the steps. Fiyero reached out for her, but she placed her other hand on the wall for support and shied away from him. She walked down the last few flights of steps when her eyes finally adapted to the brightness and entered the hall. Boq had started a fire burning in the fireplace, for them to dispose of the hair later, and it made the room warmer that it should be. There were two stools in the middle of the room, a comb and a pair of scissors on one of them. The green girl sat on the other stool. They both reached for her braid at the same time, their fingers touching, and she quickly pulled back and placed her hands on her lap.

"I'll do it," Fiyero offered. She kept quiet, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt.

He expected some tangles for hair as long and badly maintained as hers, but there was surprisingly none. Her hair was smooth and cool to the touch, like the best Vinkun silk. He ran his fingers through it more times than necessary, feeling the way each strand shifted against his fingers. He tried to gather the hair with his hands and brushed against her neck accidentally. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her fingers tightened their grip on her skirt. He pretended not to notice it but picked up the comb left on the other stool and combed her hair until she visibly relaxed. He curled a lock of hair around his finger, just like what she did when she was reading, and watched as the hair slid away easily as if it had a life of its own.

"Are you going to start soon, Captain?" she asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

"How much should I cut?" He asked, pretending that he had been deep in thought about the haircut. "Here?" he asked as he pressed the scissors flat against the small of her back. "Or here?" He placed the metal higher up, somewhere below her shoulders. "Or here?" He tapped the scissors gently on her shoulder. "Or do you want to have hair as short as mine?" he teased.

"That sounds good, Captain Hairstylist," she replied, slightly humored.

He chuckled, glad that he was able to make her smile, even if it was just for a moment. "No way."

He started at the hair at her shoulder level, from the left to right. His amateurish snips resulted in jagged cuts that could not be fixed no matter how hard he tried.

"This is more difficult than I thought," he admitted. "You are not going to make it to the top ten best haircuts this year." She laughed softly, and it brought a smile to his lips.

The black hair against her black dress made it difficult for him to see clearly even in the bright room. He reached for a lock of hair to fix the disaster that he had made, and accidentally brushed against her jaw. She stiffened. He pretended not to notice it and snipped her hair. But he took care not touch her accidentally again. He wondered how many people could touch her without her flinching. He wondered how long it would take before she was used to a person's touch. How long it would take before she was used to _his_ touch.

The end result was, well, not as bad as he feared.

Her hair was now slightly above her shoulders, a few inches shorter than what he intended. He stood in front of her and pulled the hair from both sides of her face with his fingers. He had seen Glinda's hairdresser did that to ensure that the haircut was in symmetry on both sides of the face. The shorter hair framed her face, making her looked younger and more vulnerable. She looked back at him, her eyes the colour of overturned earth, flecked with mica. Brown and rich, eyes that anyone could drown in. He wanted to brush his thumb against her cheek and cup her face. He yearned to close the gap between them, to find out if his mouth fit hers, if grey lips were as soft as pink ones.

A piece of firewood popped in the fireplace, startling them, and both of them looked away at the same time. She looked at the hair on the floor.

"We should clean up the place before they come back," she said as she stood up and stepped away from him. Fiyero found two brooms and they worked in silence as they swept the area clean, depositing the hair into the fireplace where the fire was burning.

Boq and his family came back later, when she was hidden safely upstairs. Milla began to prepare their dinner while the children crowded around Fiyero, telling him all about their trip to town. The two older children got his attention with their louder voices and Clarinda wandered off, hurt.

That was, until she found something in the fireplace and elbowed her way back into the crowd, an animated look on her face.

"Look! My pony has a new tail!" she exclaimed excitedly as she lifted her hands to his eye level. One of her hands was holding the green horse that he had brought as a gift. She held something with her other hand, pinching it between her thumb and finger so that it met the dock of the horse.

It was a lock of black hair, slightly singed by fire.

* * *

><p>As the days went by, the inevitable must happen - Fiyero had to go back to Emerald City.<p>

He had already requested for an extension of his leave once via telegram, and he suspected that another extension would not be granted. He had been gone for too long. And he could not delay his decision any longer. He could bring her back with him as a prisoner, or he could arrange for some soldiers to guard her in Boq's place until she had fully regained her strength. The latter would give her more time to recover but would implicate Boq and his family. The former? He could not bear the thought of delivering her to Southstairs. She was a wanted criminal, and she would not be exempted from the interrogation and tortures that they dished out to the prisoners to make them talk. And then he remembered some stories that he had heard, stories about some guards who took delight in inflicting excessive pain on prisoners without reason, who thought that the female prisoners were their playthings to be humiliated. Southstairs had its own rules and he knew that he would not be able to intervene once she was there. There was no way he would know which area she would be assigned to, if she was safe from the guards' filthy hands and sadistic minds.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I will be leaving tomorrow," he said over dinner. Boq looked up in surprise and Milla gasped. "Can you give us a ride to town please?" Boq dropped his jaw at what he was insinuating. The children started talking at once.

"WhyWhyWhyWhy?"

"Uncle Fiyero! You can't leave! We have not gone camping yet!"

"Nooooo!" Clarinda climbed onto his lap and started wailing. Little Boq cried, for no reason other than his sister was crying.

"Oh no, please don't go…" she wrapped her arms around his neck and soaked his shirt with tears.

The children were loud enough to render conversation impossible for the rest of the dinner.

Fiyero found an opportunity to talk to Boq after dinner, when the latter was washing the dishes. Milla had left the room, unwilling to stay in the same room any longer.

"I can't delay it anymore," he told his friend, hoping that he would understand.

Boq glared at him. "Just continued to say that and it may make you feel better. It definitely does not make me feel better. I thought that you have more sense than this, but I think the tight pants that you used to wear in Shiz must have cut off the oxygen supply to your brain." He vent his anger on the plates.

"She needs to stand trial for the deeds that she has done. I know she does not look and act like a criminal, but there are things that she has done that she needs to answer for."

Boq gave a loud sigh as he threw the dish towel on the table.

"Fiyero, do you really believe that she did all those things? All those killing and burning? All those destruction? Have you ever asked her? Is the Gale Force's motto 'Guilty unless proven innocent'?"

"There's no smoke without fire."

"I think your head is stuffed with hay, Captain," was Boq's reply.

He knew that she knew the moment he went upstairs. The books, which were previously neatly stacked up (according to their sizes) were gone. In its place was a black cloak, newly washed and neatly folded. Next to it was her broom. She was lying on her side, on the leg that had just recovered, away from him.

"I'm sorry," he simply said.

She did not reply. Her eyes remained closed.

"Can you don't sleep on your left side? It may reopen the wound," he pleaded slightly. He did not know what else to say.

She replied by burrowing into a tighter ball and squeezing her eyes tight.

Fiyero sighed.

"Goodnight. I guess we have a long day tomorrow," he said as he lay down. He did not expect any reply, and he did not get any.

Captain Fiyero Tiggular put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, and counted sheep the whole night.

They got up before dawn, and shared a last breakfast in the attic in silence. They went down, her broom in his hand, and they stepped out of the house with Boq. The predawn wind blew across the fields, and Fiyero was thankful that Milla had made a new cloak for her. Her movements were slow, hampered by the ropes that bound her legs and wrists. He reached out to help her, but she jerked her hands away, her face turned to the side, unwilling to meet his eyes, her features a mask.

"I'll bring the cart over," the Munchkinlander muttered as he took one of the lamps and went in the direction of the stable.

The two of them stood outside the door and waited. Inside, Fiyero could hear Yellowgage's voice as the boy tried to get out of the bedroom to say goodbye to him. Milla hushed her son, and said something in a soft voice that he could not hear.

Boq was taking far too long.

Fiyero looked at the green girl. Her gaze was far away, as if she was a passenger at a platform, waiting for her train to come. The cloak billowed in the breeze, and he was reminded of the time when he first saw her in the Throne Room.

The eastern sky began to glow magenta and pink.

He shoved the broom into her hands.

"I'm not going to give you a second chance," he said. She looked at him, her face unreadable, her fingers opened. He let out a growl as he wrapped her fingers around the stick, and took out his dagger and slashed at the ropes, not caring that he had scratched the stones under her feet.

She stood there, like a statue. Or perhaps too stubborn to accept the chance that he was giving her, the chance that he knew he should not be giving.

"Go." He clenched his teeth. "Before I change my mind."

He did not wait for a reply, but spun on his heel and marched in the direction of the stable. Boq was most probably hiding in one of the stalls, stalling for time. He kept his fists in his pockets, wishing that there was something he could punch so that he would feel better.

He did not turn around until she was gone.

**A/N The description of Elphaba's eyes is taken from the book.**

**I will be undergoing some tests in the next two weeks, so do expect a delay for chapter 7.**


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